


Hang Up

by starwarned



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Established Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned
Summary: Based on the prompt: "I love you." "Hang up and tell me that when you're sober."
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 146





	Hang Up

**Author's Note:**

> Got this from a random prompt I saw on Tumblr and really liked it! (“I love you.” “Hang up, and tell me that when you’re sober.”)
> 
> Not in love with my writing in this, but eh! Let me know what you think :)
> 
> Also, why do all snowbaz writers on ao3 only ever write smut or angsty break-up fics (me included)? 

**BAZ**

  
  


It’s been different since we came back from America. I could have guessed that it would be, but maybe I didn’t want to think about it. Maybe I hoped Simon would retain a little bit of the version of himself he was when we were first in America.

I think about how Simon looked while sitting behind the wheel of that convertible, comfortable and free with his wings outstretched like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Simon’s still closed up. He’s stubborn. 

I love him intensely. 

Sometimes (mostly when we’re snogging and he’s particularly affected) I can get a glimpse of him being vulnerable. It’s not often, but enough that I know we’re still alright. It feels  _ good _ to have him in my hands and see him exposed and open to me. I feel incredible when I whisper  _ “I love you”  _ to him and he whines  _ “I love you too”  _ back at me as my hands wander as much of his body as he’ll let me. 

That hasn’t happened in weeks. Sure, we still snog, and Snow still moans and whimpers and writhes under my grip, but he’s somehow even more closed off. Every time I pull away from his mouth long enough to try and look at him, he tenses and blocks me out, trying to just kiss me again. 

I’ve buried the lead. The biggest problem between Simon Snow and I right now is he hasn’t told me he loves me in two and a half weeks. 

I didn’t really notice at first. I’d yell it to him before leaving his flat in the mornings and just wouldn’t catch a reply before running out the door. I’d say it to him while we were lying in his bed, but I figured he was already asleep so he couldn’t answer. I’d tell him I loved him over the phone and thought maybe he didn’t hear me or the call had ended before he’d managed to say it back. 

When I did notice, it was staggering. 

Simon’s started to go out more, which I should be happier with, but he goes out and drinks. I’ve come with him a few times or Penelope will sometimes join him, but he prefers to go alone. I’d be afraid he was going out to get some ass that isn’t mine except he consistently stumbles home at two in the morning, pissed out of his mind, so there’s no way he managed to learn anybody’s name let alone shag them. 

Of course, it’s hard not to worry. 

Tonight is no different. Simon and I have been kissing intensely for a while, his hands under the back of my shirt as I straddle his lap and hold his mouth against mine. I’m trying to kiss him enough that he’ll stay in tonight, but as Simon pulls his head back away from me, I know that’s not meant to last. 

“I think I’m going to stop by the bar tonight,” he says, panting a little bit and running his hands over my waist carefully. 

I don’t want him to go and he knows that. “Or you can stay here,” I suggest, leaning down to kiss just under Simon’s ear. 

“Baz,” he says, almost like a warning. He tilts his head up to give me more room but maybe not as much as he would if he was going to stay. 

“Please,” I say, tilting to bite gently at his earlobe and reach up to push my hands against his chest, running them slowly down his torso before playing with the hem of his shirt. 

Simon tenses. “Baz.” 

I pull my hands away immediately and sit up. “I’m sorry,” I say, always teetering on the edge of uncertainty whether I’ve pushed him too far or not. 

“It’s fine,” he assures me, pulling his hands out from under my shirt, which makes me ache to have his warmth again. He pushes me off his legs and I was any less graceful, I’d probably have fallen flat on my arse.

Simon feels especially cold towards me tonight. 

“I’m going out,” he says, standing up from the couch and brushing his hands down his front in order to smooth out his shirt and jeans. 

“Okay,” I respond, knowing arguing isn’t going to help. My tone isn’t kind. I don’t want to encourage him. I step back a little bit until my back is pressed against the wall. 

Simon grabs his wallet and keys from the coffee table before stepping to the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and I  _ hope  _ he’s going to turn around and tell me he’s staying or tell me he loves me. 

He does neither of those things and leaves without a second glance back at me. 

“I love you!” I call after him. I know he can hear me before the door shuts. 

I go down the hallway to his room so I can sit on his bed and at least pretend that I feel comfortable there. Simon’s flat has really felt like my home for the past few months, but I’m worried that  _ Simon  _ won’t be my home for much longer. It feels like he’s getting tired of me. 

I lie down on his bed and press my face into my boyfriend’s pillow. It smells like his hair and also vaguely like butter (but that’s not surprising). I don’t mean to, but I fall asleep, comforted by the scent of Simon. 

I wake up to the sound of my ringtone going off. 

I groggily sit up and yank my mobile out of my pocket, blinking quickly before even recognizing Simon’s contact on my screen. I answer even though I’m still a little out of it, worried that something bad has happened to him. 

“Hello?” 

“Baz.” Simon’s voice is too loud over the phone. 

“Snow. What’s going on?” 

“It’s karaoke night tonight.” 

I can tell he’s pissed. “How much have you had to drink, Snow?” 

Simon snorts and I can hear shuffling around like he’s dropped his mobile. “Like nothing. Not as much as I normally do.” 

“Which is?” 

“Four maybe. Also two shots.” 

I run my hand over my face and lean over the side of the bed so I can support my elbow with my knee. “That’s a lot.” 

“Nah.” 

“When are you coming back?” 

“I don’t know,” Simon laughs out. I can hear someone talking to him and he shouts, “This song reminds me of my boyfriend!” 

It should make me smile or make me happy or something, but I’m enraged. “Simon.” 

“What, Baz?” 

“Please come home. I don’t want you getting into trouble.” I’m not even attempting to mask the annoyance in my voice anymore.

“I’ll be fine,” he insists, stuttering over the pronunciation of the word ‘fine’. 

“Right.” 

“Baz,” Simon starts, suddenly getting very quiet. 

I don’t respond, waiting for him to continue. I’ll just yell if I talk again. 

“Baz, I want you to know something.” His voice has dropped lower.

“What?” I ask, bluntly. I don’t want to deal with this anymore. I stand up and start to search for my jacket so I can go home as soon as this phone call is over. It seems like Simon’s going to be out for a while. 

“I love you.” 

I pause, my jacket just barely caught between my fingers. I can’t deny that it’s reassuring to hear him say it after so long, but it just makes me angrier. Why is he saying it now and not when I’ve given him a hundred opportunities to do so over the past weeks?

“Hang up, and tell me this when you’re sober.” 

“Baz-” 

I take the choice away from him and hang up myself. Crowley knows he won’t remember this in the morning. 

I sit down on the edge of the bed and fall back onto it so I’m pressed flat, my arms outstretched. Simon has always caused my brain to shortcircuit, but this is different. I’ve never been more upset with him - for drinking so much, for leaving me alone tonight and every night, for never vocalizing that he loves me until he’s  _ pissed _ . For everything, I suppose. 

I decide I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself. I stand up to finish putting on my jacket and turn my mobile on silent before shoving it into my pocket, determined not to think about it ( _ Simon fucking Snow _ ) any longer. I grab my keys from Simon’s bedside table and head out to my car. I sit behind the wheel of the car for maybe longer than I should. I don’t know exactly what I’m waiting for - maybe for Simon to appear, to kiss me senseless, and to tell me loves me. 

He won’t do any of those things and I crinkle up my nose at the idea of him smelling like alcohol like he does when he stumbles back to the flat. I refuse to kiss him when he’s like that. 

I drive home. I get to a fitful sleep. 

When I wake up, I have a text from Simon that was sent at 4:57 in the morning. 

_ i wish had u been heere when i gotback sorry _

I have to read it three times because it’s nearly nonsensical, but I get the gist. I debate going over to his flat or not, but settle on going. I have to. I miss Simon, even if I’m still a little upset with him. Normally, I get over Simon drinking by the next morning, but I’m holding a grudge today. 

I text him back, just to make sure he’s awake. 

_ I can come over now. Are you awake and showered?  _

He answers in under a minute. That’s one of Simon’s best qualities and one that not a lot of people possess - he’s a great texter. 

_ getting in the shower rn. let urself in when u get here  _

I do as I’m told, stopping to grab a coffee on the way. The drive to Simon and Penelope’s flat is only a few minutes so once I get there, I let myself in and I can hear the shower still running. 

“I’m here,” I call out as I enter his bedroom, lying down on his bed. He actually made it this morning (which is more than I can say for myself) and I guess I’m impressed. He must be less hungover than I thought he would be. 

The shower turns off and Simon enters the room with a towel slung around his hips and a cotton shirt wrapped around his head (he always says it preserves his curls better), skin still damp. This is a sight I’m very accustomed to and have been since our Watford years, but he still takes my breath away.

I can’t help my happiness to see him. 

I evidently can’t say the same for him. He looks upset when he sees me, like he was hoping I just wouldn’t take his text seriously and stay home.

I sit up on the bed and make myself as small as possible, tucking my legs closer to my chest. I don’t know why I even came over. 

Simon doesn’t say anything and neither do I as he walks past me to change into fresh jeans and a shirt, using the shirt on his head to dry his hair completely. I try not to look at him when he does this because it just makes me feel nostalgic for being his shitty roommate. At least when we were in school, I didn’t have to worry about if Snow loved me back or not. It seems like that’s all my brain can focus on these days. 

Simon finishes drying off his hair before sitting down next (not as  _ next  _ as he could be) to me and holding the damp shirt in his hands. There’s unusual tension between us. Sure, we’ve fought before, but I’m not sure how much of last night he remembers, so I’m not going to break the silence. I don’t want to say anything foolish.

  
“About last night,” Simon finally says. 

I tense a little bit. What am I supposed to say to that? I settle on nodding. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what, Snow?” I can’t stop myself, and it sounds especially blunt. 

He drops the shirt on the floor and turns to face me, tucking one of his legs up and grabbing onto it. “For everything, Baz. For getting pissed and calling you and telling you-” he stops himself. 

I nod numbly and flatten my hands against my knees. He feels sorry for telling me he loves me. At least he remembers it, which has gotta be something, right? I stare down at my hands. 

Simon’s trying desperately to catch my gaze, I can tell. “Baz,” he says quietly, reaching and grabbing one of my hands. 

I don’t pull away, but I don’t reciprocate the motion. 

“Please, darling.” He leans forward and presses his forehead onto my shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry for saying you love me?” I ask bitterly, pulling my hand away. “Why can’t you fucking say it when you’re sober?” 

I can feel Simon tense against me. “I’m not sorry for saying I love you. I’m not for not having the guts to say it for the past week.” 

“Two and a half weeks,” I correct, rolling my shoulder so he’ll lean off of it. 

“Right.” Simon anxiously tugs on his curls. “I know my going out all the time bothers you. It bothers me, too, but I have to be away from you sometimes.” 

I feel my body immediately flinching away from him like he’s burnt me. “I’m sorry,” I spit out, standing up out of frustration. I hope that Simon doesn’t mean all of this in the way it’s coming out, but if he does, I can’t stay any longer. “I’m sorry that I’m so hard to be around.”

“ _ No _ ,” Simon breathes, tugging on his hair again, too hard this time. He winces. “I don’t mean that. I mean that you’re so much for me to handle, Baz. I love you too much.” 

“You could stand to let me know that sometimes.” 

“I know that.” 

“I know you do.” 

Simon stands up and his eyes pin themselves to mine. “I love you. I do. I haven’t been able to say it because I’m scared.” 

“Scared of what, Simon?” I ask, trying to ooze more coolness than I feel. 

“Scared of you,” he admits. “Scared of us. Scared of our relationship and the fact that you’ll inevitably leave me one day.” 

“What?” I ask, genuinely taken aback. If anyone was worried about being broken up with, I assumed it was just me. 

“God, Baz.” Simon looks at me like I don’t understand English and that’s why he’s not getting through to me. Like this is my fault. “You’re loving and careful and you’re so fucking  _ fit  _ and you have incredible retention of your magic. You treat me like I matter, even if I can’t treat myself that way. Sometimes being away from you means that my brain can reset and I can stop thinking about how much I don’t deserve you.” 

“You  _ do  _ deserve me,” I insist, softening a little bit. I’m impressed that he’s able to explain to me how he’s feeling, all while looking at me in the eyes. 

Simon holds up a hand, but only half-heartedly. “Please, let me finish. I’ll never get through this.” 

“Sorry.” I cross my arms over my chest. 

Simon continues, shoulders tight and his eyes still very consistently trained on mine. “Every time I say I love you, my heart is ripped out through my stomach and given to you on a silver platter. I feel like the more I say it, the more you’ll analyze me and eventually realize that I’m a piece of shit.” 

I hold my tongue. 

“I realized that was bullshit last night. I mean, I’ve known it was bullshit all along, but I was hoping it would just snap into place and  _ make sense _ . Essentially, I was trying to make it easier on myself when you leave. But,” he pauses, breaking eye contact. “I don’t think you’ll leave.” He stares at my mouth. “At least not now. Well, maybe after I tell you all of this, but until now, you wouldn’t have.” 

I open my mouth to respond, but apparently he’s not finished. I feel like this is most he has ever talked about his feelings in his life. 

“I love you, Baz. I love you endlessly and I’m sorry I get nervous when you touch me and that I get piss drunk and that I can’t seem to stop think-”

I step forward and stop him with my mouth. I hope he’s finished explaining himself because I absolutely cannot hear anymore. I push my hands up into Simon’s hair and once he’s relaxed a little bit, he puts his arms around my hips. I run my tongue over his bottom lip and that causes him to pull his head back. 

“I want to  _ apologize _ , Basilton, and you’re not letting me.” 

“I am letting you. I did let you,” I insist, not letting Simon move out of my arms at all. “I love you, Simon Snow. You know that I do. I’m not going to leave you.” I kiss him again and I hope that everything I want to tell him is communicated through my mouth and into his. 

“Really?” Simon asks against my mouth. 

“Yes, you imbecile,” I say back, running my fingers along the top of his scalp, pulling softly on his hair. “I mean, I’m still a bit upset, but I’ll get over it.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, far enough away that I’m not swallowing the words, but close enough that his lips brush mine when he forms the sounds. “I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you.” 

“You shouldn’t.” 

“Maybe. I think I like you too much to not forgive you. Not sure if you know this, but I’m really quite in love with you and I’d probably do anything for you.” 

Simon hums softly, finally letting his eyes smile a little bit, his mouth not far behind. 

“I love you,” he repeats, kissing just beside my mouth. “Am I saying that too much?” 

“You have two and a half weeks of unreturned ‘I love you’s to make up for. Keep saying it.” 

“Right. I love you.” 

I kiss him again. “Good.” 

He doesn’t taste like alcohol anymore and I hope that he won’t for a long time. He tastes like sunshine and honesty. And like butter.   
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact I just gave the girl I have a crush on my ao3 username so uh that’s scary. We’ll see if she reads this and still thinks I’m cool


End file.
